Let The Games Begin
by LizzieRW
Summary: So I used my artistic license and threw the characters of Harry Potter into the Hunger Games, starting with the reaping in District One. I'll go through each District doing a POV because I couldn't resist, but don't worry, i have it under control!
1. District One

**LET THE GAMES BEGIN**

PART ONE – THE GAME REAPER

District One – Luxury

Draco sniffed, a grimace emerging on his pale face. He opened his eyes slowly and was greeted by the sunlight filtering through the broken blinds on his small bedroom window. He knew what day it was today. Reaping day. Years ago, 73 to be exact, there was a rebellion in the 13 districts of Panem. It had be quashed after a few months, when the 13th district was obliterated. But as punishment, the Capitol had created The Games. In which 24 children, a girl and boy from each district were put into an arena and made to fight for the death. Draco's family had always been huge supporters of the games, watching it on their small television every year, but it was all right for them. They were old now. For almost every child between the ages of eleven and eighteen, the approach of the games was a stomach clenching, nerve racking experience. Sure, luckily enough he was from a richer district, where they made luxurious items and sold them for a high profit. People here actually trained for the games, day and night, until they became unbeatable. The winners were almost always from his district, but in Draco's mind, there was still a one in twenty-four chance of winning, over a twenty-three in twenty-four chance of death.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, staring out the window. He could see the little street, where peacekeepers were starting to swarm like flies within it's white-washed walls. He could see people peering out of their windows and shutters at the increasing crowd on their way to the large, white square, outside the rarely used justice building in the centre of the town. He felt his stomach churn as he saw them setting up the screens in the distance that would televise the reaping to all of the Panem, so the capitol citizens could see the fear in the children's faces and make bets on which would survive if they were picked. Shaking the sleep from his heavy head, Draco stood up, pushed back his sleep-messed white blonde hair and moved to his wardrobe to get dressed in his best clothes. Despite his pessimism, he had to look presentable, were he the one chosen.

* * *

><p>Somewhere a few streets away, an alarm clock went off. A raven-haired girl awoke, and jumped out of her bed. Leaning out of the window, she looked down the cobbled streets to the raised justice building at the centre of town. She grinned. Diving back into her bedroom, she ran to the wardrobe, a big old mahogany wardrobe that had been her grandmother's. She pulled out several brightly coloured dresses that varied in extravagance from plain to capitol-esque. After laying out each in turn, she picked up an emerald green cotton sun dress with yellowing lace cuffs and satin ribbons and pulled it over her head. Pansy turned, looked in the mirror, apparently extremely pleased with what she saw.<p>

"MUM? MUM! WAKE UP IT'S REAPING DAY!" She ran to the door and shouted down the hallway of her little yellow house. Thundering down the stairs, she ran into her bright kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table. She turned around and was greeted by her mother, still in her pyjamas and looking very tired.

"Pansy, sweetheart, calm down. I don't know why you're so excited" She smiled a sad smile, pulling back her own raven hair, her blue eyes full of confusion.

"Mum, if I get picked, I'll be on television! The whole Panem will see me! I've been training for YEARS. I have to get in before I'm eighteen!" Her mother said nothing, only looked at her with eyes full of sympathy, so Pansy ran upstairs again, hair and ribbons flying behind her. When she reached her room, she went to the window again, leaning on the frame and playing with the shutters for a while. She looked across the brown rooftops of the east of the town and wondered to herself what Draco would be doing right now. Pansy let out a sigh as she let herself be swamped with daydreams about herself winning The Games and coming back to find Draco desperately in love with her. If she was chosen, he might actually like her. Breathing in the cold morning air, she swung around and headed across the room to her chest of drawers to do her hair, buzzing with excitement.

* * *

><p>The Malfoy family sat in silence around their grand dining table. Draco stared into his bowl of oats, not listening to whatever polite words passed between his parents. His mother looked nervously over to him, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear.<p>

"Draco? Sweetie, are you okay?" She reached out a quivering hand to his arm, and he looked up. The woman resembled strongly a rabbit in her disposition, but quite the opposite in her features. Her pointed, pale face was only ever warm when it was pointed in his direction, and right now it was filled with fear and sympathy for him, her eyebrows pressed together with concern.

"Yeah. I'm fine." He forced a look of excitement onto his reluctant face. He didn't want to worry his mother anymore than she already was. She hated the reaping almost as much as he did; the thought of her baby boy being sent to an arena to fight till the death with only a slim chance of winning made her sick to her stomach.

"I think it would be extremely prestigious if he were to be picked! Think of the honour if you were to win!" Draco's father narrowed his snakelike eyes at Draco. "Do at least try to enjoy yourself today." Draco nodded curtly, his lips pursed, and put down his spoon.

"It's almost noon. We'd better head to the square." He spoke, the words empty and hollow. They all rose and left the dining room, and into the long dark hall of their house. Their house was always the darkest. It's tiny rooms and narrow halls were always filled with shadows, which was a major contrast to the rest of the town. In the streets there were white washed walls and bright yellow shutters, cobbled roads and pebble-dashed fences. The outside of the Malfoy's stuck out like a sore thumb. It's paint had not been done in years, and it was peeling to reveal a darker colour. It's shutters were black and there was rust and decay in every spot. Draco walked out of the door, which was a much too grand panelled wooden door for the actual grandeur the house held, flanked by his parents, and headed down the streets, which were almost empty. At the square, he found himself bombarded by a flustered Pansy, waist length hair and emerald ribbons flying every which way.

"DRACO! Where have you been? It's almost noon! Get to the peace keepers!" She squealed at him. He feigned interest and alarm and walked towards where he needed to stand, with the rest of the boys. Towards the back, the muscular, older guys who had trained almost their entire life, and came from the more rich families of the town, stood, grim determination in their eyes. Lanky Draco stood with the boys his own age, and tried not to look too nervous. Across the square, he saw Pansy, who waved. He had to admit, despite the ugly, upturned nose, annoying, obsessive and shrill personality, she was actually quite a nice person. Well, she was certainly the only person who seemed to put up with his sullen mood and lack of any optimism. He still didn't particularly enjoy her company though.

The anthem sounded, and Cornelius Fudge climbed onto the platform. There was an enthusiastic round of applause. As he greeted them, and the rebellion film rolled, Draco felt fear rising in the pit of his stomach, up his spine and into his throat. He was never usually this scared. What was so different to any other year? Something was changing.

* * *

><p>Pansy glanced across at Draco again, but he was still staring forward, expressionless, his mop of blonde hair falling over his forehead, clearly showing no one had made an attempt to brush it back. His white shirt was a little grubby and wasn't tucked in properly. She sighed and turned back to the front, straightening out her dress, and as the film finished, and everyone duly clapped, Cornelius Fudge stepped forward, his outrageous orange hair and tailed jacket flapping about in such a fashion that made him look like a crude, exotic swallow, to the silver microphone shaped like a gem and began to speak.<p>

"Welcome, to the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Our mentor for this year's tributes will be Severus Snape." A sour looking, greasy haired man with a hooked nose stepped forward, swathed in black. "Now, ladies first." This was it. Pansy crossed her fingers as her chest fluttered.

"Pansy Parkinson"

Pansy opened her eyes. She could not believe her luck. Raising her head, she looked around her, the children at the front staring at her with a mixture of relief and pity. The ones at the back who had trained all their lives glaring indignantly, wondering whether they had a victor in their midst. She took a shaky step, and as she reached the stage, she looked back. She beamed.

"Ah! Lovely to see someone with a good attitude. Over here, Pansy" Fudge shepparded her with his gloved hands to the right of the illustrious stage, where she stood, beaming. This was really happening. She was finally going to the Games.

"Now, for the boys!" Fudge crossed to another giant bowl to the left, and dipped his hand in. Pansy instinctively drew her gaze to Draco, who was still stood expressionless. Why couldn't he be pleased for her? Why couldn't he at least show something? Fudge rooted around in the paper and drew out one.

"Draco Malfoy" The boy's face dropped. Pansy's eyes widened. Draco's mother cried out, as he made his way to the stage. No, no, no. Pansy felt sick. Her daydreams seemed silly now.

"Come along, Draco. Up here. Now shake hands!" Fudge dragged the two together, and Pansy reached out her hand, tears filling her eyes. No, she couldn't lose her nerve. This wasn't happening, she was still asleep. This was a bad dream. She looked at Draco, to see any sign of anything in his face, but there was nothing. Then It hit her like a bullet in the stomach. She didn't want to win the Games so much if that meant she couldn't have Draco. Although, it seemed like Draco didn't really want her anyway. Resolving back to her original plan, to survive the Games and come home a champion, she narrowed her dark brown eyes and looked into Draco's watery grey ones. If he didn't want her, then maybe she could do without him.


	2. District Two

DISTRICT TWO – MILITARY

Bellatrix Lestrange was sitting in her dark little house, combing through her long black curls. Looking into the rather grand but slightly dirty mirror, she pinned various bits of ratty hair back into an elegant do. She practiced her the smile she would use if she were chosen, her thin lips slowly pulling into a grin over yellow teeth. She practiced holding herself correctly for the camera. Her whole life she'd been waiting for an opportunity to go to the arena. Now, at the age of fifteen, she wished harder still. Girls her age always focused on being the prettiest, the most popular, but Bellatrix, although neither ugly nor unpopular, only focused on the Games. Pretty and popular came with them anyway, plus the added bonus of the fun in the arena. To Bellatrix, this sounded like Christmas. Her black eyes gleamed at the thought of it. She tucked her wand into her long black lace dress that had been her great grandmothers and made her way down rickety stairs, holding onto the knarled black banistar. Her parents were stood in the hallway, sallow looking and ghost-like. They did not smile at their daughter. They only looked sad. Did they raise her wrong? They wondered. What kind of a girl wants to go to the arena and kill others? Was it their fault? A sadistic streak ran through her, for sure, but whether it had stemmed from their hostility and rejection toward her, they did not know.

Coming out of their front door, they walked into the gloomy alleyway. The Lestranges lived in a dull and murky corner of the city in District Two, in a grand old house that did not belong in the street of slums it was placed, among the crooked homes of the widowed military wives and poor families. However, the magnificent old house was a façade, crumbling a the edges. Although the house of Lestrange acted wealthy, their lace was yellow with age and their diamonds were fake.

The family paused for a moment outside of their door. As they did so, their nextdoor neighbour joined them. A young, short boy who remarkably resembled a rat, with thin brown hair and small nose, came to stand with them. No one called him by his first name, which was Peter, he was known to the residents of Two as 'Wormtail.' At seventeen, he lived on his own, having lost both parents to an explosion in the Nut, the central military base, an impenetrable and inescapable hill at the edge of the district, which strongly resembled an ant's nest. The neighbourhood considered him a bit strange, and generally kept away from him. He only ever spoke to Bellatrix. She treated him like the dirt under her shoe, but he did her bidding, and apparently seemed grateful to have someone communicate with him, so she kept him around. As the clouds gathered, they all walked on, along the grey paved streets towards the centre of the town and into the square.

As they reached the square, the group separated into their appropriate positions around the dull, lifeless area. The clock on the justice building rung accordingly, and the anthem played. The residents turned to the stage.

A short, toad like woman walked forward. She was dressed all in pink, and her chin disappeared into her fat little neck, which was surrounded by a large pink duffle. On her chest was a broche of a cat, on her head was a wildly extravagant capitol style fascinator with pink butterflies and a tiny kitten in the crown of her hair. She looked thoroughly unpleasant.

"Good morning, boys and girls. I am Dolores Umbridge, I shall be escort for District 2 and also mentor, due to a lack of volunteers. I hope you are looking forward to the events that will follow in the next few months. The Games are, a truly prestigious thing to be involved in, if you are picked. If you are not, there's always next year" Her voice was sickeningly high-pitched. It made Bellatrix's skin crawl like listening to nails on a blackboard. She wrinkled her nose. If she got picked, having this incompetent toad as her mentor had better worth it.

"Now, ladies first. " Umbridge smiled, crossing to a large fish bowl on the left side of the stage. Dipping her hand in for a second, she drew out a small piece of paper, and unfolded it.

"Bellatrix Lestrange" She called out. Bellatrix froze. She could not believe her luck. She looked up, a cold smile brewing on her lips, and made her way to the stage, confidence in her stride. Umbridge greeted her quickly and moved over to the next bowl.

"Now, gentlemen. Your tribute is…" She dipped her hand into the other bowl, and drew out another slip. "Peter Pettingrew" Bellatrix winced. She was indifferent to his partaking, but she would feel a little guilty about having to kill him. She waved those feelings off. She had to be victor. Looking into the crowd, she saw Wormtail's startled face among the other boys his age. His shirt was messy and un tucked, his trousers scuffed the ground where they needed to be taken up. They certainly looked pleased to see him go, but I suppose it's good to get rid of the town crazy. Wormtail stepped slowly towards the stage, looking dazed. Bellatrix couldn't tell if he was in shock, or whether that's how he always looked. They were forced to shake hands, and then were sheparded off into the justice buildings, chased by the cheers and claps of the crowd.


	3. District Three

DISTRICT 3 – TECHNOLOGY

When the sun rose over the hills of District Three, Hermione Granger was already awake with worry. She had been up for hours, and had since given up trying to sleep, so she paced her tiny bedroom back and forth. She was very surprised she'd not worn a hole in the hardwood floor. Her room was very simple, just a plain wooden floor with a threadbare blue rug, a small bed covered with sky blue sheets, a tiny wardrobe that barely held her clothes and books piled every which way, precariously stacked in the most hazardous manner. Sometimes Hermione would stack her expanding collection and wonder that if the Games didn't kill her, these books certainly would. The Games. The reaping was today. This meant nothing but knots in the stomach for every resident of district three. Although they were a poor district, especially compared to their surrounding districts, where the tributes would trained their entire lives, Hermione was at least thankful they were not as poor as some districts, like twelve. She imagined life there and life without her books and could almost not bear it.

Peering out of her tiny round window, Hermione saw the sun start to rise, changing the sky from an inky blue to a bright pink and into a flaming yellow, like fire. She smiled. Sunrise was always her favourite time of day. But today it meant it was time to prepare. She shuddered.

Hermione manoeuvred her way between the piles of books and to her wardrobe. Of course there was little to pick from. She just pulled out her least messy dress, a light pink flannel jersey, threw it on and went to comb her bushy hair. Hermione was not the sort of girl that guys liked. She kept her nose stuck in a book, barely spoke to anyone and didn't have the best features, with a mane of bushy brown hair. Although she fixed her buckteeth using a simple charm last year for a dance, she was still the one that no one really paid attention too. But that's the way she liked it. Quiet and peaceful. She frowned, as she realised that when she contemplated being picked to participate in the Hunger Games, she was more repelled by the fact that she would be forced into the spotlight rather than the fact she'd also be forced into a deadly arena, where she'd have to kill or be killed. Hermione sighed, hoping her hardest she could just stay where she was.

* * *

><p>Across the tiny town at the centre of district three, Cedric Diggory was still sleeping. His soft golden brown hair fell neatly over his handsome chiselled face, his arm dangling onto the floor, resting next to his Labrador. As the sun rose and filtered through the tattered curtains in his room, the patter of light feet echoed across the hall and paused at the door. Cautiously, the small boy pressed on the door, letting it slowly open with a creak. This woke up Cedric, who opened his eyes but remained in exactly the same position he was in.<p>

"Are you okay Edmund?" He murmured, his voice still croaky from sleep. The little boy crept into the light, carrying a tattered old teddy bear. He was about twelve, but was short for his age and managed to stay fairly plump despite living in one of the poorer districts. He too had a mop of golden brown hair, but his was curly, making him look even more childlike and innocent than he was. His blue eyes twinkled, and he made his way to Cedric's bed, sitting on the end. Cedric sat up and pushed his hair out of his hazel eyes. "Today's the day, isn't it?" The little boy nodded, clutching his bear into his chest.

"What if I get picked? I won't win" The little boy's voice quivered and he looked down to the ground.

"Hey, you won't get picked. And if you do, I'll volunteer for you, or something. I'll make sure you don't go. And if you have to, you'd win. I'd sponsor you with every penny this town has. Plus your hexes are really like none I've ever seen." Cedric smiled at his brother, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder.

"What if you get picked?" The boy turned his gaze from the floor to Cedric.

"I'll win. Simple as that. Look Ed, there's hundreds of children in this district. Like the Capitol say, the odds are in our favour!" He mimicked the Capitol accent with this last comment, and was rewarded with a smile from Edmund. "Now, go get dressed. Today will be over before you know it."

* * *

><p>Hermione was pacing again. This time, in her family's tiny living room. It had bare floors with a threadbare pink rug, the walls were plastered with family photographs and an old worn sofa stood against one wall, adorned with a fluffy ginger cat that was almost as tatty as the rest of the house, pointed towards an old television, that appeared to have been tinkered with several times. Despite being classed as a poorer district, the people of district 3 were better off than the districts to the east, mainly because the technology industry was a fairly expensive one. The capitol had to pay well, because without their televisions, they couldn't broadcast fear into the lives of every resident of the Panem who breathed the word rebellion. And of course, being trained in technology meant intelligence, which can make one very rich indeed.<p>

Hermione's parents both entered the living room at once, sharing a sympathetic look at their daughter. "Sweetheart, you should eat something." Her mother cooed, holding out an apple to her daughter, who was pale with anxiety. Hermione just shook her head and carried on pacing. The ginger cat raised it's head to appraise her and then fell back to sleep. Her parents stood in the doorway for a moment longer, watching their daughter and reflecting her worry. When the clock's hands were almost pointing to noon, Hermione stopped pacing and raised her head. She took a deep breath, and stepped towards her parents, who both put an arm round her. Together they walked to the door.

* * *

><p>"COME ON CEDRIC, EDMUND, WE'LL BE LATE!" Called a short fat man from the small front garden of an extremely rickety, tall house. Voices called back from inside the house, and a moment later, the two boys burst out of the door, still tucking in shirts and combing hair. "Honestly, you two! Hopeless." The man rolled his eyes then looked at them endearingly. He was wearing plain brown robes and had a wooden cane. On the top of his head was a red tartan hat. The three made their way out of their garden gate and into a street filled with tall and thin precarious houses, hat looked like they would topple over without a moment's notice. Each house was attached to a miniscule front garden, some filled with flowers of a huge variety of colour and scent, some filled with weeds and some with just concrete. The street all together gave the appearance of a very odd suburban jungle.<p>

Turning the corner, the family made their way into the large square. It was much too large for the fairly small town, flanked by miss-matched brick houses on one side and huge grey factories on the other. In the centre was a marble statue of a skinny wizard holding his wand in one hand and a coil of wire in the other. As they approached the peacekeepers in the centre of the square, Cedric and his brother were shoved into the right side of the square, facing a large stage that protruded out of the Justice Building. He looked around him. He could see his brother staring at his shoelaces a couple of metres in front of him. To his left, past the statue, he could see the girls, standing in uniform lines, exactly like their counterparts on the opposite side of the square. He cast his eye over the rows of quivering bows and lace, and met several others. Cedric, being as handsome as he was, attracted a large amount of female attention. Even now, with the reaping rearing it's ugly head, there were still eyelids being batted in his direction. He didn't register any of it. Although a popular boy, he had never really met a girl he liked. All the ones who liked him tended to be shallow and gossiped too much. He turned his head back to the front, and watched his little brother shuffling his feet. Although confident that Edmund wouldn't be reaped, he couldn't be so sure about himself. His name was in that bowl more times than he liked to remember, but for each slip of paper, his family got much needed grain. The Diggorys were not the richest, his father did not earn much and since his mother had died, Cedric had been forced to take care of Edmund. Dark thoughts plagued his usually fairly light-hearted ones, wondering what would happen to his brother if he, Cedric, did not return from the Games. Shaking them away, he internally rolled his eyes. '_Don't get ahead of yourself Ced,' _He told himself. '_You've not even been reaped yet and you're already creating a will._'

* * *

><p>Across the square, Hermione Granger was shuffling from one foot to the other in nervousness. She was stood with some other girls her own age, but they didn't talk to her. Having always kept her nose in a book, she didn't have a lot of time to make friends. Not that they ever wanted to talk to her, anyway. They called her a mudblood. District 3 was not a career district, where they valued the so-called blood purity above all else, but being surrounded by them did have an effect. Hermione's parents were non-magic. At a young age, she had been taken away from them, and taken to Panem, to District 3, where she had been adopted by the parents she had now. The non-magic people, or muggles as they were called here, lived in another place, another country, no one really knew for sure, but they were unaware of the magical Panem. Part of the uprising some seventy years ago had been to abolish the segregation of muggles and magic folk and so to end the discrimination of the muggle-borns, but since the fall of the rebellion, the Capitol had a new distaste for muggle-borns. Although they swore against it, and publicly discouraged prejudice, there was a rumour that they doubled the names of the muggle-borns in the reaping bowls.<p>

Hermione sniffed, and the girl next to her moved a couple of inches away from her, her face shrivelled up in a look of disgust, as though Hermione's blood-status was contagious. Hermione had long since stopped caring. There was no use in tears and words of anger in defence like the ones she used to shout many years ago. They just invited further jeers of resentment. And although not everyone in the district had the same views of blood-purity like some of the more well-to-do families, they still made up a powerful minority, so Hermione just kept her head down, and focused on her books.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the anthem blasting out from the screens either side of the stage. A witch in long sparkling robes of cyan, her hair combed back into a tight bun with a headdress of bright blue leaves adorning her head, swept onto the stage. She ignored the microphone, but reached for her wand, muttering '_Sonorus_' to it, holding it to her throat. A second later she looked up beaming, her voice ringing out across the square as though she was pressing a megaphone to her thin lips which were painted in blue stripes.

"Welcome, citizens of District 3. Welcome, to the 74th Annual Hunger Games." She beamed across the crowds, her face doubled magnificently on the enormous screens either side of her. "President Riddle has wished you all a very Happy Hunger Games! A short clip will be shown, and then the reaping shall begin! The excitement in her voice must have sounded across the district. "May the odds be ever in your favour!" The clip showed, and Hermione was left to her thoughts again.

* * *

><p>Cedric rubbed his hands together nervously. The tension in the crowd was obvious, they did not want to see a film about the rebellion, they wanted the reaping to be over and done with. Finally the clip finished, and the witch, who had been gazing in admiration at the screen, turned back to the crowd.<p>

"Now… who should we pick first? Boys!" She made her way over to the bowl facing the half of the square with the boy lined up in neat rows. Carefully placing her hand into the large bowl, she plucked out a slip of paper and opened it. Cedric placed all his prayers into hoping it was not his brother.

"Cedric Diggory"

Cedric had been listening so hard for Edmund's name, that he did not recognise his own for a second. It was only when he heard Edmund cry out, a strangled 'NO!' that he was released from his confusion. He stepped forward, towards the stage. He felt hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, some filled with relief it wasn't them or a member of their family, some filled with pity, some of his friend's filled with sorrow. He saw his brother being held firmly back by one of his close friends, Orion Nott, who was wearing a grim look, but gave him a nod. Cedric returned it. He climbed the stairs, and looked out upon the crowds. He saw his father, a look of disbelief in his eyes, slowly shaking his head, being held up by a few of his friends from the factory. Cedric thought, at least if he were to die, his family would not be unsupported. He turned to the brightly coloured witch, who beamed at him like she could not be more delighted at his impending death, and gave her a stony gaze. She ignored him, and crossed to the opposite bowl.

"Now, ladies!" She reached into the bowl again, and quickly drew out a name. Cedric idly gazed across the lines of girls, wondering who would be his fellow tribute.

"Hermione Granger" She read out the name, and Cedric's eyes fell upon a girl with bushy brown hair, whom he had seen a few times around his school. He had never really talked to her, but some of his friends had referred to 'that Granger girl' when talking about the 'good for nothing mud-bloods' At first he had protested, he had never seen anything wrong with the muggle-borns but after a while it became to tiresome to argue. He had never seen her bothered by it anyway, he only ever saw her in the library, reading. He watched the girl take a sharp intake of breath at the sound of her name, her face filled with fear, but not surprise. Then just determination. He was not a stranger to the rumours that muggle-borns had their names put into the reaping more times than any other wizards, but the amount of them reaped could be just because there was a large number of them in poorer districts. He watched her step forward, grinding her jaw, holding her head up. Her walk was followed by no emotion, unlike Diggory's, but it didn't seem to worry her. He had to admit, he was quite impressed. He knew of her cleverness and rather good knack for spells, but this unphased, stubborn face had always been hidden behind books. His district might have a victor yet. Shaking his head and laughing internally at his self-assessed apparently hopeless situation, he looked again at his chances at winning. He was strong, able, clever, brave. He could win. Just because the victors were nearly always from career districts, did not mean neither he nor Hermione would go down without a fight.

Shaking hands with his fellow tribute, he smiled. She smiled back, and for a moment they shared a look of knowing. Feeling remarkably more positive about the experiences he could face in the next few weeks, he turned to his district, and waved.


	4. District Four

DISTRICT 4 – FISHING

The sun rose, glistening on the seas at the edge of district four. Fleur Delacour, whose house was on the very edge of the town, window facing out to the wide ocean, was already awake. She was leaning on her windowsill, fiddling with a bit of rope, tying it in knots and staring out onto the wide stretch of glittering water. She wondered to herself, some days, if she could steal a boat and sail away. But the thought was ended when it dawned on her that she just had no idea how long she would have to sail before hitting land. She might go all the way around the world and hit the other side of Panem. Not that she could leave her family anyway. They relied to heavily on her ability to make fishing nets and sell them. And her little sister, Gabrielle, would miss her. And so would Bill. She turned and dropped the rope onto her bed, humming to herself idly and gazing at a picture on her wall. It was of her self and a red-haired wizard, with a ponytail and an earing. They were both smiling. Fleur smiled back at it, brushing through her shining silver-blonde hair. She had known Bill for a fair few years now, since when he won the 69th Hunger Games. When his victory tour had landed in District 4, he had said that the moment he set eyes on her he was smitten. She too admitted that she had been rooting for him all the time throughout the Games. After the tour, he moved from District 12 and came to live in 4 with her. The only thing they ever disagreed on was the Reaping.

Being from the poorest district in the Panem, Bill had always seen the Games and Reaping day as a terrible occasion, which was merely another name for an early death sentence. He never understood how in Fleur's district, they trained all their lives, just in case they were chosen. He had constantly begged Fleur to take some of his victor's prize money so that she would not need to add her name in extra times, but he just didn't understand. The people of four trained for the Games to give themselves a fighting chance. They were not a poor district. They had every chance of winning, and many victors had come from District 4. Well, he need not worry much longer. Fleur was turning eighteen this year, and it was her last year of being eligible for Reaping. Fleur turned and sat down at her mirror, frowning slightly. It may be her last year, but it was her little sister's first. She loved her sister dearly, and the thought of her being picked and being put up against one of those huge brutes from District 1 made her shudder and feel quite ill. Trying not to think about it, and wondering if there was a way she could volunteer instead, Fleur continued to brush her hair. She tied it back into a complicated braid and went to her wardrobe. There, hanging on the door, was a short dress of sea-blue chiffon that matched her piercing eyes and silk ribbons that resembled seaweed wrapped around the waist. Smiling, Fleur thought to herself that if she were to be chosen, the men of the capitol would be falling over themselves to sponsor her. That was the magic of being part Veela.

* * *

><p>Across the water, Viktor Krum was fishing. He stood, perfectly still in the water, staring past it's mirror like reflection, then raised a large muscular arm, holding a trident, above his head, and brought it down into the water, breaking up the mirror into a hundred ripples. He brought it back up, collected the fish from the end, and threw it into a woven sack on his back with the rest. Searching the water for any other signs of life, he heard a yell from the shore. Turning around he saw his grandmother stood along the shore. She was a short, hunched, wrinkled witch with her white hair pulled back into a tight bun. She wore large horn-rimmed spectacles, making her dark eyes look larger than life. Despite being half the size of Victor, she was almost just as tough.<p>

"Viktor! Get home! Ve haff to prepare for the Reaping, boy!" She called in a throaty accent. His grandmother had come from the far northeast, from far beyond Panem, having been a muggle-born. She'd ensured that she'd kept her odd accent as part of a reminder as to where she'd come from, and ensured that her children, and grandchildren, were brought up to have it too. Although Viktor's was much weaker, having grown up with friends who spoke very differently.

Viktor turned his large, muscular body around, put his trident in the sack and headed back into the land. He'd always preferred being in the water to being on land. He loved to spend the mornings with the water lapping around his waist, almost as much as he loved flying, and especially in the hotter seasons, the cool water was a great antidote to the hot sun. He loved being on his broom the very most though. Despite being an excellent swimmer and fisherman, he always chose his broom above everything else. It was like he could just fly away if he wanted to.

As he reached the shore, his grandmother handed him a towel, and he gave her the sack. Drying off quickly, they both headed back into the town, neither talking much. The Reaping always gave him an ominous feeling, despite being very brawn, strong and fairly skilled. Although Krum wasn't the brightest fish in the sea, he knew if he were picked he'd have a fair chance of being in the running for victor. He had trained for this. However, given the choice, he'd stay with his grandmother. She was the only family he had, and he was not sure how she'd survive without him bringing in fish… Krum shook his head and smiled. His grandmother was a tough old bird. She'd be fine.

When they reached their home, Krum put the sack on the table, eyeing it up surreptitiously. His grandmother glared at him.

"No. If the Capitol find out ve haff stolen sum ov the fish from their vaters, ve shall be punished! Take them down to the market. Trade them for some eggs und cheese buns." She commanded, thrusting the sack of fish into his arms. Krum grunted in assent, turning and heading out of the door. It was still early, and many of the brightly coloured shutters were still closed. Krum made his way down the tiny cobbled street, turning into an small area with many tiny stalls contained in it. Despite the rest of the streets being fairly quiet, the little market square was bustling. Looking up over the orange tiled roofs, Krum could see the grey, concrete justice building leering over. The large square, used for the reaping and other larger usually Capitol held events, was on the other side of a row of bright white houses whose tiny flowering gardens faced the market square he was in now. There was an alleyway connecting the two areas. Krum wove his way, rather clumsily, around and through the crows, when he reached the baker's stall, he traded some fish for a fresh batch of cheese buns, and admired the intricately decorated cakes. The baker, who was a stocky build with a mop of ashy- blonde hair that fell in waves across his forehead, followed his gaze and beamed, clearly appreciative of any form of admiration. Krum lifted his head and nodded to him. "They are very gud."

After he had gathered everything he needed and sold the rest of his fish to some peacekeepers to send to the Capitol, he made his way back to his house. The bad feelings he'd managed to wave off in the market square made their way back into him. He turned the corner into his house to find his grandmother sitting at the table waiting for him.

"About time too, I vos getting vorried!" Krum looked her, his eyebrows raised. "Fine, I vos getting hungry. Same thing" She laughed. "Now give me one ov those eggs and go get ready, you need to look you're best!" Krum nodded gloomily, and handed her the sack. He headed upstairs to wash and dress.

* * *

><p>Fleur sat at her table, idly nibbling a piece of toast. Her sister had not touched her break fast; she just stared at it unseeingly, her blonde hair falling down and hiding her face, shining in the light that came through the kitchen window.<p>

"Gabrielle," Fleur began, her voice warm and comforting. "You must eat something. Or you shall faint!" Gabrielle looked up at her sister, her big blue eyes watery and her eyebrows pushed together.

"But Fleur, what eef eet's me?" Her voice was barely audible. She looked as if she was on the verge of tears.

"Ah, petit canard, do not be so silly!" Fleur smiled as widely as she could, and reached over to hold her sister's hand. "Your name 'as only been een ze bowl once! Zere are 'undreds of children en zees district 'oo 'ave got zeir names in zere many more times than you!" Gabrielle seemed to cheer up a little. She pushed her hair back behind her ears.

"But Fleur, what eef it's you?" She bit her lip. Fleur shook her head.

"Eef it's me, I shall win!" She whispered, kissing her sister on the forehead. "I promise. Now eat! Also, remember ze strawberries girl ees coming today. Zere will be a nice treat with lunch!" Gabrielle smiled, a little more relaxed. Fleur watched her sister for a while. She was just thinking about how she would be extremely happy to get this day over with, when the doorbell rang. Gabrielle looked up excitedly. Fleur answered it, to find the girl with the strawberries. She had a long dark braid, was wearing a dark hunting jacket and looked rather surly. Fleur thanked her, gave her some money and took the strawberries back into the house, hoping that the both of them would be back there that afternoon to enjoy these strawberries instead of saying their goodbyes and heading on a long train journey to an unknown place.

* * *

><p>Krum and his grandmother were walking to the square outside the justice building. The bright streets had never seemed duller, and were almost empty, but because the town had cleared into the large square opposite the justice building, not because the residents were asleep. They crossed the now nearly deserted market place, and Krum caught a glimpse of the baker he had seen earlier, who gave him a grim nod of well wishing. Krum returned it in thanks. The pair crossed the tiny passageway joining the two squares, and were greeted by an enormous crowd, gathered around the stage outside the justice building. Krum bent down to give his grandmother a kiss on the forehead, who patted him on the arm then hobbled off to join the other spectators, leaving Krum to join the back of the rows of children. He let his mind wander as he looked over the heads of all the younger children, many of whom were shuffling around nervously and some were even shaking. Further back, the older boys stood tall, muscular and with their heads held high. Many of them had trained for a very long time, should they be chosen. Krum sniffed, thinking that despite the fact he was fairly well prepared, he would rather it be they than him. He turned back to the front, and as the anthem played, a tall wizard in shiny green and blue robes took to the stage in a rather flamboyant manner. His robes swished around him in such a way that Krum was reminded of the waves on the ocean, which he was sure was the intention. The wizard had dyed his hair an elaborate shade of blue to top off the outfit, and had decorated his small squinty eyes with tiny silver fish. His thin lips, which were painted silver also, pressed together tightly, giving the impression that he would much rather be somewhere else. As them anthem came to a close, the thin wizard spoke.<p>

"Welcome! To the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" His voice was curt, and had a heavy Capitol accent. "May the odds be ever in your favour!" He backed away from the microphone and gestured to a large screen to the side of the dreary justice building, which flared up instantly, showing a film of the rebellion. Many of the spectator's eyes glazed over; they showed the same film every year, and most had seen it a fair few times. As the film drew to a close, the wizard opened his mouth to speak again.

"Wasn't that lovely!" He exclaimed, but it sounded like he thought anything but. "Now… ladies first!" He crossed to a large fish bowl holding what looked like hundreds of slips of paper. Diving his hand into the bowl, he drew out one.

"Fleur Delacour" He announced clearly. Krum turned, to see her look slightly taken aback, and then move to the front. He knew her fairly well; she was in his year at school. Many of the boys had liked her, including Krum at some point, but she had settled for a boy from District 12, a previous victor. Krum watched her walk steadily and calmly to the front, when a girl ran out and grabbed her. She had silvery blonde hair as well, and looked like a miniature Fleur. She was crying.

As the peacekeepers approached, Fleur glared them off, kneeling down to hug her sister and whisper something in her ear. He saw a red-headed man with a ponytail and an earring come and take Gabrielle. He gave Fleur a kiss and pulled away her sister, who put up quite a fight. The silence was filled by her sobs and screams.

As Fleur reached the stage, the wizard in blue robes nodded to her, pulled her to the centre and moved over to the second bowl, leaving Fleur gazing stonily at the crowd.

"Right… then… Gentlemen! Are you ready?" The wizard reached into the second bowl, picking out another name. Krum knew it already. He could feel it.

"Viktor Krum"

He didn't feel much. He heard a few people around him groan, probably from his quidditch team, but all he knew he had a fighting chance, and that he must try his hardest to return to his grandma. Or else give instructions to one of his friends, or maybe the kind baker to help her along if he was to die. There was no point in resisting going onwards, so Krum pulled himself up to his full height, and stalked to the stage. The wizard shook his hand, and made him face Fleur. The exchanged a look, and shook hands.

Krum turned around to face the crowds, and his grandmother caught his eye. She raised the middle three fingers on her left hand, kissed them, and raised them up. Krum nodded at her. She pressed her fingers to her heart, and then Krum was pushed into the building.


	5. District Five

Apologies for the length of time it took to put this out there. I had to have a huge break to study for my exams, but they're over now, so I'll be able to finish this!

* * *

><p>DISTRICT 5 – POWER<p>

Harry woke up in a start, trembling in his bed, covered in sweat. His lightening shaped scar prickling on his forehead. He'd received the scar when he was a baby, when his parents had been killed by peacekeepers for using their skills for the benefit of someone other than the capitol. His parents had been killed, but his mother sacrificed herself, and when one particularly malicious peacekeeper attempted to murder Harry, his curse had backfired and left him dead, giving Harry only his scar, shaped like a lightening bolt, which seemed to concur with his district. Harry lay in bed contemplating his situation, and what the day would bring. He had always feared reaping day, after his apparent survival, it was rumoured by some people that his name was always added a good few more times to the bowl, for good measure. To tie up loose ends. On top of that, the Dursely's, Harry's aunt, uncle and cousin Dudley, whom he lived with, despised him. If they ever needed more grain, they'd be sure to add Harry's name more and more, as long as their precious Dudley, had a smaller chance as possible. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Mr Dursley always applied to put Harry's name in the reaping more than was needed, just at the chance he could be shot of the boy. The Dursely's were an ugly family. Inside and out. Mr Dursley was large and wide, with little watery eyes, and a bright red complexion. Mrs Dursley was stick-like, with a up turned nose and an expression that constantly looked like someone had handed her a dead animal. Their son, Dudley, mirrored his father. He resembled a clothed swine.

Harry climbed out of bed, and walked across his tiny, dark bedroom to the dirty mirror, framed by cobwebs that no one had bothered to dust away for years. His room was no reflection of the rest of the house, which although fairly small, was incredibly well kept, tidy and fairly well decorated. Harry's dingy little room was always dusty and dim, and reminded him vividly of a prison cell.

Looking in the mirror, he saw his own worried face, pale with anxiety, staring back. His messy black hair stuck up in every direction imaginable on top of his head, but he made no attempt to flatten it, many had tried and found it would never be tamed. He had bright green, almond shaped eyes. Harry tried to pinch his cheeks to bring some colour back into them and try to regain a respectable look of confidence, but he had no luck. Giving up, he crossed to his dresser, putting on an old shirt and trousers that had once been Dudley's (it was a miracle he fitted into them, Dudley was a the size of a small whale and the trousers had to be taken in by several inches) and tried to make him self look presentable. Hoping he had at least a decent breakfast to look forward to, he headed downstairs.

* * *

><p>Across town, Hannah Abbott's eyes flew open. She blinked a few times, taking in the pale morning light filtering in through her dusty blinds that framed a small round window. She stretched out in her bed, her feet falling over the end, the once-white old duvet she slept under tangled across her body. She rubbed her eyes, wondering why she had awoken so early. It can't have been more than 6am. Then her stomach dropped. Of course. Today was the day.<p>

Hannah Abbott was part of a large family. Although her father earned a fair amount for someone of this district, which so many mouths to feed, so many pillows to rest heads on, they had to live a little less than luxurious. But Hannah didn't mind. She loved her sisters and brother, and would much rather eat stale bread or bathe in cold water every so often than be an only child.

She rolled over in bed, and looked across at her only brother, whom she shared a room with. He was eleven, and it was his first reaping. He had been so sick with worry the previous night that he had barely slept. Hannah had read to him for hours, but nothing made the cold sweat from fear and his creased anxious face appear any better. She watched his still-pale, tiny form from across the room. He looked so fragile and helpless. Although Hannah had been trying not to, she imagined what would happen if he was picked. She allowed herself to imagine him wandering through the arena of the games all alone, with no clue what to do. Her chest grew tight and tears filled her eyes. She must not appear frightened. Being the eldest of six, she had to keep a strong heart. As she sat up, and looked across at her brother's tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically with the waves of sleep, she couldn't help but see the strong resemblance he possessed to a dormouse. Fragile, gentle. Hannah shook back her long blonde hair. She vowed to herself, that if her were to be picked, she would find a way to volunteer for him.

* * *

><p>Harry trudged down the stairs, apprehension brewing inside him like lava. Every step drew him closer to the moment his name would be drawn. He knew it would be drawn. It had to be. He'd escaped it too long now, his luck would only last so much longer. Entering the bright kitchen, which was coloured a ghastly shade of pink and decorated with flowery pink china plates hung on the walls, he saw his aunt and uncle sat at the table, talking in hushed tones. They stopped when the saw him, and Petunia went back to fussing over Dudley, who had been sitting there quite oblivious, stuffing his face with bacon and eggs.<p>

"Are you feeling okay Duddy?" Petunia patted her son's vast arm, trying to comfort him. She then reached and began cutting up his food, like he was a toddler again. Dudley didn't look any different than usual. He knew that his parents would be able to worm him out of any reaping.

"Of course he's feeling okay Petunia." Vernon scoffed. "My, if our Dudders got chosen to be a part of these prestigious games"- Uncle Vernon raised his voice slightly. Harry rolled his eyes. His uncle was always acting like there were peacekeepers recording his every movement. "-then he'd win for sure. Good strapping lad he is!" He reached over and slapped Dudley on the back, causing him to almost choke on his fourth rasher of bacon. Strapping was certainly an under-exaggeration. Dudley's many chins wobbled under his face as he munched on his toast. He could see his aunt and uncle were now scowling at him, their noses wrinkled with distaste. Harry bet they wished he would be picked.

"Aren't you going to get dressed," Petunia murmured coldly, turning back to her post. Harry looked down at himself. He had to admit he didn't exactly look tidy, but when did he ever? He turned back and headed up the stairs again, sighing as he went. When he returned back downstairs, this time in fairly smart trousers that he had actually been bought for himself and a button down shirt, Petunia still gazed at him with the same expression one carries when eating an extremely sour sweet, but at least this time she didn't pass comment. Harry grabbed toast and reluctantly joined them at the table. He loathed sitting with them under their judgemental glares, but his hunger beat him this time, so he finished his food as quickly as possible and disappeared back upstairs.

Upstairs, he sat for a while, facing the grimy mirror. He thought of his parents, and how if they had still been alive, what would his life be like now. Would he be in another district? Would he be filled with dread the week coming up to a reaping? As his eyes wandered over his face, he wondered which of his parents he resembled the most. He wondered if he had inherited any of their traits or features. He started emptily into his own bright green eyes, and wondered which relative they came from. Were they his mothers or father? Or did they belong to an estranged grandparent that no one could remember? He would never know. Harry sighed.

* * *

><p>Standing outside the cottage, Hannah drank in the scene of the street. It was a nice neighbourhood, filled with tight little cottages and houses, with vines creeping up the walls and roofs that were thatched. All the gardens were filled with fruit trees and rose bushes, and the street running down the middle was cobbled, and barely saw any cars. The entire row of houses looked completely out of place in the grey, sooty district that it was placed in. Hannah was grateful to live there.<p>

She turned back to the house, to see the rest of her family join her. Her mother, with the same waist-length golden hair and flat brown eyes as her, was holding the hand of her little brother. She smiled. Many had wondered if there had been some mistake at the hospital at which her brother was born, he looked so unlike the rest of his family. His five sisters all had long hair, which waved like a sea of corn, dark brown eyes that almost hid the pupils set into pale, freckled skin. The typical look of district five. However, he had dark, tough hair that grew into tight curls across his skin, which was the colour of caramel. His eyes were grey and large, the kind of old-soul eyes which look like they've seen a thousand years despite the age of the one who bore them. Whenever he looked at you, it always seemed so sincere for such a young child; it was like he was staring into your heart. He looked up at his mother, a crease in his forehead and tightened his grip. She smiled sadly down at him. Hannah thought how hard it must be to not be able to protect your child from such a horrible fate. It was her last year, but she didn't know how she was going to watch her brother be reaped for the next eight years.

The family stood for a moment, looking around them. Drinking in the last few moments of peace and serenity before they had to open themselves to the chaos and uncertainty of the games. Hannah idly wondered if one of the number that stood around her would not be returning to their little house in the corner of district five. The thought made her stomach twist. The moment passed, and the family set off.

* * *

><p>Harry and the Dursley's made their way through the grimy streets at their end of town. No matter how well kept their household was, the area they lived in was a hole. The streets were coated with layers of dirt and neglect, like the residents had just stopped trying to make their surroundings look appealing. Not many of them had the money to anyway. However, the Dursley's still strode through the streets with a pompous attitude that sickened Harry. He hated the way Vernon looked down his nose at every passer by, he hated the way Petunia turned her head haughtily at any poor looking man, he hated the way Dudley thundered through the streets like he was the only one that mattered. They looked like a spectacle.<p>

It was a long walk to the square, only the richest residents of Five could afford a car, and the Dursley's point blank refused to take public transport- "think of the _diseases_"- whispered Petunia, a look of complete horror on her face when Harry made the suggestion. So they walked, trudging alone, with Dudley moaning that he was tired and asking if they were nearly there yet. Harry found it unbearable. He, however, enjoyed walking. Granted he much preferred walking alone, but he enjoyed taking in all the miss-match houses, the progression from poor to rich as you reached the town centre. He was also fascinated by how no matter how rich the houses got, no matter whether they were mansions or bungalows, they all still seemed to maintain the same air of dismay. There was only one area of buildings that even seemed the remotest bit happy, and that was on the other side of town. The Dursley's had taken him and Dudley to one of the only parks in the district over there, but after discovering almost everyone else was richer and snobbier than they were, the were quick to leave the green patch of paradise and hesitant to return. They preferred their own safe nest of grey.

Finally, after much whining from Dudley and Vernon, they reached the square. Although unimpressive, it was large. It had a statue of one of the founders and largest land owners of District Five, Huck Rudolphine. Surrounding him were iron electricity pylons, to represent the district's main output, power. Petunia rounded on Dudley, showering him in kisses and hugs, whispers of support and good luck. Vernon patted him on the back and they went to join the other spectators, Petunia whimpering like a lost puppy.

Dudley turned and glared menacingly down at Harry. Harry knew this was all show though, Dudley would never dare lay a hand on Harry when he had seen the kind of magic that Harry was capable of. The pair went to register themselves then joined the assembly of boys on the right side of the dreary square. It was soon to begin.

* * *

><p>As the Abbott family reached the square, they all turned together. Making sure Hannah had hugged and wished well each and every one of her siblings, she made her way to the register, holding one of her sister's hands. She looked her shoulder, searching for her brother, and as she saw him on the opposite side of the square, her heart sank. He looked so innocent and helpless. Luckily an older boy with jet black hair that seemed much too messy was helping him to his place. Hannah squinted. She thought she recognised him. She prayed once again that the odds were in her brother's favour. As they lined up, the giant screens either side of the stage lit up, and the anthem played. A flamboyant capitol wizard, with a dark thick moustache, flowed onto the stage, swathed in gold and turquoise robes with a large gold turban atop his head. Stepping forward to the microphone, he smiled a malicious smile. Hannah felt an unpleasant squirm in her stomach and a shiver in the base of her spine. He did not look friendly.<p>

"Citizens of District Five!" He called into the microphone, each syllable drawn out and emphasized. "Welcome to the 74th Annual Hunger Games! I am your reaper, Titus Rollo!" He smiled maliciously again, his teeth gleaming. "Now, let's get to it!" He made his way to the left side of the stage, his robes making him float along like water, and faced the girls. He looked across all manner of faces, young and full faced, to older and gaunt. His eyes narrowed.

A bowl was brought forward by two peacekeepers, filled with slips of paper. Rollo dipped his hand in, rooted around and pulled out a single piece of paper. This was the moment that everyone hated. The tension. Anyone's name could be on that paper, anyone's life could be changed dramatically by just opening the seal on a slip the size of small notepad. Slowly, Rollo opened the paper. Please, not any of my sisters, Hannah prayed. Not today, not this year, not ever. Titus Rollo read out the name slowly and methodically, taking his time over each sound the name made. It's not my sisters. It's not any of my friends.

It's me.

* * *

><p>Harry looked up as he saw the girl straighten up and make her way to the stage, her head held high. He knew her, he had met her once. She was kind to him. When the Dursely's took them to that park, she was there. She had seen how unkind Dudley was to him. She had seen how lonely he looked, sat on the swings along and mournful. So she had come over, her long golden hair flowing out behind him, and gave him some sweets. Harry had never had sweets before. She sat with him, looking at him curiously like he was some sort of strange animal at the zoo- he didn't blame her, with his green eyes and jet black hair, he didn't exactly fit into the blonde and brown eyed look of Five- but then Petunia had called him over and scolded him for playing with a stranger, he looked back at the girl one last time, and she smiled. He had never forgotten one of the only times he can remember someone smiling at him. He was sad she had to be chosen.<p>

Titus Rollo's hand slid out from under his robes and shook hers briefly and lightly, like she had some sort of infectious disease. A grimace appeared on his face for a millisecond, and then he returned back to his plastered beam. He floated over to the boy's side of the square and left Hannah stood on her own, a thousand eyes upon her. She did not drop her head.

"Right, now time for the gentlemen!" But Harry was still watching Hannah, who had turned and now had a worried gaze fixed upon her face. She was looking towards the group of younger boys at the front. He followed her stare to one of the youngest boys. He looked no older than eight but Harry knew he must have been eleven to qualify for the reaping. He had helped him earlier, he seemed so lost and his slight frame made him seem so much more vulnerable. He must have been Hannah's brother. Sniffing and hoping sincerely that her brother was not picked, he seemed much too fragile to take place in such a horrific event, Harry hadn't even noticed Titus Rollo's hand dip into another bowl and pull out another slip of paper.

It wasn't until he heard the name 'Harry Potter' ring across the silence that he knew. He had known since the moment he had gotten up this morning. It was always him.


End file.
